Rainbow Series Draco Malfoy
by catsintheattic
Summary: This is a collection of eight stories about Draco Malfoy's life in HBP. The stories themselves will be loosely connected, but each can be read as a stand-alone as well. You can find individual information in the header for each story.
1. Violet

Main Characters: Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson

Ship: DM/PP

Warnings: mention of hormone-addled thoughts about heterosexual frottage, abuse of botany

Summary: Draco is determined to fulfil his task. Now all he has to do is convince Pansy that there's nothing to worry about.

Author's notes: The first story of the rainbow series. Love and thanks to Waterbird for being a wonderful beta and a friend.

Feedback and concrit are always welcome.

**Violet**

Pansy came to him half an hour before curfew. Draco sat on his bed in the boys' dormitory, leafing through a book without looking at the pages, plans and strategies forming in his head. But the plans and strategies soon changed into more vivid phantasies.

He had enjoyed Pansy immensely on their way back to Hogwarts. Having his head petted and caressed in her lap and getting all her adoration and silent jealousy had felt nice. While he was used to the humble devotion of Vince and Greg, as well as Pansy's openly expressed affection, her touching and fussing had developed a new quality over the summer. Draco's lips broadened into a happy grin. Just a slight hint at his importance and his connection with the most powerful, and she had practically fallen to her knees to worship him. Power and attraction worked very well hand in hand. Something stirred in his nether regions.

Draco let his thoughts wander to what could have happened if they had been alone: Pansy lying across the bench as he pressed her into the old and dusty upholstery, touching her body in all the new places and carefully grinding into her thigh, letting her feel his building erection. Hearing her gasp, her eyes lighting up with that devilish little smile that appeared when she was up to mischief. He wouldn't press too hard into her, though. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Pansy, like him, had been brought up properly, and even though they were promised, they had certain rules to follow. He might let his hands wander to-

"Draco." Pansy's voice was calm and affectionate beside him. "I knew I would find you here."

Draco turned towards her. The images in his head quickly swirled away and left him with nothing but heated, over-sensitive skin and a pounding erection in his trousers. He shifted his legs.

Pansy settled silently at his side. Contrary to her former behaviour on the train, she didn't touch him. Only their shoulders connected lightly.

It was Draco who broke the silence after a short while. "So, has the gossip in the common room already calmed down?"

"They're still talking about how you broke Potter's nose. I hope the embarrassed look stays on his ugly face all week." Pansy did nothing to suppress her satisfied grin. "Honestly, Draco, how could you expect me not to know that you were up to something? I knew it the moment you told me that you had to 'check something'. We never leave the train without each other."

Draco nodded. This was the truth. They were friends. But being friends in Slytherin didn't mean not having secrets from each other. And Pansy was naturally curious. He suppressed a sigh. This had to be expected. She would want to find out more. The question remained, how would she try to reach her goal?

"So you managed to get your revenge on Potter."

"You should have seen his face, when I broke his nose."

"He never saw it coming, did he?"

"The stupid Gryffindor fool."

She laughed, and it felt contagious, an acknowledgement of his cunning and swift execution. So he joined her, and his body was vibrating and relaxing with jubilee. Easy, light and promising.

"What are you up to?" Her interruption was so blunt and inappropriate that the laughter was still on his lips when he felt the lurch in his stomach.

"Pansy?"

She sighed. "Listen, I know that I'm not supposed to ask, but I have to. And don't give me that look! You made that little speech on the train about the importance of your task, about how you wouldn't need to finish school and how qualifications won't prepare us for the future."

"And I thought that you were with me on it! That you were happy for me to be given such a chance! But it seems that I was wrong." He knew that last comment would sting.

"Of course I'm happy for you, Draco. I know that you're eager to prove yourself. But I'm worried as well. I wouldn't worry so much if I knew more. I have no idea-"

"And that's how it's meant to be. Nobody is to know about it!"

"Not even me."

"Not even you."

He saw the hurt on her face, and it made him uncomfortable. "Look, Pansy, this is my mission. I cannot share it with anyone; there's too much at stake. Besides, I've already started preparing; it won't be too difficult."

She looked at him, chin raised, and squinted. "Draco Malfoy, what are you talking about?" The intensity of her gaze was almost scorching his skin. "Do you really expect him to give you an easy task? I might not have talked to him in person, but I know certain things. And I'm sure that he won't go easy on you. Not after- well, you must know this. You have to."

She had a point. Repairing the Cabinet wouldn't be an easy task. On the other hand, he had it all laid out. Borgin would be easy to deal with through the help of the werewolf. Draco wasn't particularly fond of Greyback, but Borgin feared him, as did most of the others. Greyback was an excellent threat. And with the couple of special books he had found in that little shop at Knockturn Alley, Draco should be able to mend the damned Cabinet in a few weeks. The second task, well, that one was different. But then again, maybe he wouldn't have to use the Killing Curse. There had to be other means, more befitting for a Slytherin. What would be regarded as most befitting for a Death Eater, he conveniently chose to ignore.

Realising that Pansy was still waiting for him to answer, Draco slipped his arm around her waist. "Pansy," he said, "stop worrying. I can't tell you more about it, but this is a chance to prove myself, my loyalty, and the worth of my family's name." When she didn't object, he added, "This is important for all of us."

He gently pulled her around and enclosed her in his arms. First, she stiffened, as if too determined to fight him for his own good, but she stayed silent all the same. When finally, her hands moved upwards to touch him, he could feel them warm and just a bit shaky on his back. He nestled his head against her cheek. The warmth of his own breath caught in the dark-brown strands of her hair. Her lips almost touched his ear.

"Whatever you do, Draco," she whispered fiercely, "don't you dare get hurt." Suddenly, her hands balled into fists and she clutched the fabric of his shirt so hard that he could feel the pull at his throat. "Don't you dare."

"I'm going to be alright." Between two hugs, he softly entangled himself from her grip. "And you are going to be alright as well, Pansy. Don't let me down."

She pulled herself together. "No," she shook her head, "I won't." She stood up and placed a light kiss on Draco's cheek. It was almost curfew, and the boys' dormitory wouldn't tolerate her presence much longer. "Goodnight."

He returned the kiss. "'Night, Pansy."

Her steps echoed on the stairs. Pansy. _Viola tricolor._ Draco knew that she wasn't particularly fond of the flowers she was named after, always complaining that they were too common. But the plants were robust and very adaptive. Their nectar had the power to disinfect and soothe irritated skin and wounds, and the petals were added to several calming draughts to sweeten the bitter taste. Draco smiled to himself. Her name fitted her well.

She would never let him down. After all, they had a future to spend together. And Draco had to make sure that he would be able to live up to all the things a Malfoy had to be. He would never let her down either.


	2. Indigo

Summary: Soaring under an indigo sky, Draco rages against Potter's luck. But he will reach his goal - with cunning, bravery, cleverness and hard work. And if he can forget that ache inside of himself, it will be all for the better.

Author's notes: The second story of the rainbow series. Thank you, Waterbird, for for beta-reading and for all your helpful suggestions! Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Comments and concrit are welcome.

**Indigo**

Draco thought that he could take to cracking bones. When he had heard about Katie Bell being taken to St. Mungo's today, he could have happily broken every bone in Potter's miserable body. Slowly. Cherishing the sound of it. It might bring back the surge of victory he'd felt on the train, when Potter had stared into his face: immobilised, bloodied, and helpless. Draco's elation had only lasted one day. The first Potions lesson had seen Potter victorious again, winning that flask of Felix Felicis that Draco needed so badly for himself. With the help of Felix, the necklace might have passed through to its final recipient without further disruption. With the help of Felix, Draco might have already found the formula to repair that blasted Cabinet. With the help of Felix, he would have won his parents' lives back instead of having everybody breathing down his neck. Alas, using Felix was not an option. The potion was not his, but Potter's.

White hot rage was flashing behind his eyes as he stormed towards the Quidditch pitch. He needed to get on his broom and get some good, demanding exercise, just to let it out of his system. To get rid of the hate that threatened to swallow his composure in one ready bite. If anyone asked him right now, he could just say that he wanted some extra training. But if he got caught hexing Potter into next week, how would he explain that? Why was it always Potter who got just what he wanted, regardless of how many rules had to be bent. And the teachers were only too happy to stand aside and congratulate him for it. Draco knew he wouldn't get off half as easily, and the last thing he needed was a month's worth of detentions. He had important work to do.

He grabbed the handle of his broom and kicked hard to get as much distance between himself and the ground as quickly as possible. Then he released his training Snitch, which glowed with a soft golden light in the emerging darkness. It soared into the sky, and Draco headed after it immediately, prepared to pursue it to the edge of its range. When his fingers closed around the little golden ball only moments later, he almost crushed the delicate wings with his grip. They batted weakly against the leather of his gloves, and Draco, angry with the too-easy catch, hurled the little ball away again.

This time, it disappeared into the sky, and Draco could finally let himself loose. He forced his broom higher and higher, until the goal posts were diminished to tiny toothpicks underneath. He circled above the Quidditch pitch. The castle looked so small, and it should have been easy to forget about everything that was happening down there and back at home. But despite his efforts to keep them at bay, Draco's fear and anguish overtook him.

He had accidentally almost killed a classmate. A pure-blood, even. Well, in a way, she might have deserved it, being a member of the House of Blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers. She could easily have fallen for a Mudblood herself. Draco grit his teeth, telling himself that in every war, sacrifices had to be made. But even though she was a Gryffindor, she wasn't any more than an innocent bystander, and a worthy Quidditch athlete as well. Keeping Madam Rosmerta under _Imperio_ was one thing, but being the cause of Bell's near death was another. And it still could happen. She wasn't safe yet. She could still… die. And then, he, Draco, would be a killer. The thought alone made Draco tremble from head to toe, his body confirming and betraying his weakness. But he couldn't be weak. Weakness meant failure, in a way much more thorough than his father's lessons had ever implied.

Draco smashed his fist onto the broom handle, causing the Nimbus 2001 to lurch in the air. The weather had changed for the worse since he had mounted his broom. No longer pretending that he was looking for the Snitch, Draco steered into the wet October clouds that had been building up and then raced back towards the ground, going faster and faster, until the rushing wind in his ears made him dizzy.

He had been proud when the Dark Lord had handed him his assignment. This was finally the chance not only to prove himself, but to win his Lord's graces back for his whole family. His mother, of course, torn between anger and anxiousness, didn't understand. But she would be proud of him, in the end. Draco could just imagine her patting his arm and fussing over him after he had proven his loyalty and worthiness to their master. The day Lucius Malfoy returned to his home, he would see that his son had taken good care of everything. A soft smile played around Draco's lips, until he remembered how his father had been taken away from them at the darkest of times, torn from his mother's side when she needed him so badly for support. Draco would have to make up for that.

The air had grown steadily colder, and now, the clouds just seemed to be everywhere. When Draco stopped and hovered above the commentator stand to catch his breath, he could feel cold sweat gluing his clothes to his body, and he realised that he was shivering violently. He should go back, and get ready to redouble his efforts.

He squinted against the quickly darkening sky. Something flickered far below, and he dived towards it. He couldn't care less who caught the Snitch in the next match. His was a race of life and death. And Draco was determined to win. This time, he would win. He simply had to. He steered his broom towards the ground and pulled it up in the last moment, soaring high into the sky again. A fluttering of wings, and Draco threw his body around and aimed for the golden ball. In the next instant, his hand closed around the Snitch, while the tail of his broom scraped the lawn, bucking Draco off like an unwilling horse its rider. He hit the ground, and slid a few metres until he finally came to a halt. A painful hiss escaped his lips when he sat up and carefully tested his limbs. He was in one piece, although his left sleeve was torn and the skin looked like it had been clawed by an angry kneazel. His brows knit together in a tight line. He shouldn't have let his attention waver like that. Draco picked himself up from the ground and slowly walked towards his broom. The shadows of the Quidditch goal posts stood black against the indigo sky.

He started back to the Slytherin dungeons. A hot shower would clear his head, and by then everybody would be busy with their homework in the common room. Nobody would miss him, when he went to the Room tonight.

He would succeed with his task. That was what he had to do. No more childish games. He would keep away from Potter and concentrate on his assignment, and be the man he wanted to be for his family. No more shouting at Weasley in the corridors, no more disturbances with the Mudblood. Slughorn and the other teachers could have their favourites, Draco didn't need to be one of them. He was done with that. Who needed words of praise in a world of battle?

He would make them pay, all of them. Collateral damage be damned.


	3. Blue

Main Characters: Draco Malfoy, Filius Flitwick

Summary: Sitting in class, Draco remembers the Christmas visit he and his mother made to Azkaban. Maybe, just maybe, the Dark Lord never wanted him to succeed with his task?

Author's notes: The third story of the rainbow series. Beta-read by Waterbird. My thanks and gratitude to her for being my travelling companion on this road. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

All comments are love and loved.

**Blue**

Christmas at the Manor had always been a feast full of beauty and wonders. This year, it was an awkward affair. Instead of instructing the house-elves how to decorate the tree and what to prepare for the menu, Narcissa Malfoy had spent the first days of the holiday packing a small bundle to take to Azkaban. And even though Lucius Malfoy was allowed only one visitor per month, Draco had accompanied his mother to the grim island, watching the wind tearing at her hair and the cold cracking the tender skin of her lips.

His mother's hopes to deliver the small parcel of chocolate, fresh fruit, an extra scarf and a hand-written letter had been destroyed at the doorstep of the prison. A thin-lipped Auror had come to note down their names, demanding both of their wands, even though Draco was going no further than the cold entrance hall to wait for his mother to return. When the Auror had spotted the parcel, he had held out his hand again.

"What's that?"

In spite of the sorrow crashing down on her, Draco's mother had forced her head up high. "Just a little parcel in the spirit of the season," she'd said. "I'm sure you won't find any harm in a few Belgian truffles, satsumas and a bit of cashmere."

"First of all, I'd suggest that you let me decide for myself what I consider to be harmful. Second," the Auror had been using his fingers to count his instructions off, "I have to inform you that the prisoners are provided with food as well as with clothing. There is no need to bring anything extra."

He had paused and taken the parcel out of her hands. Then, in one humiliating movement, he'd flicked it hard. "Third, the visitors' manual clearly states that personal, unsupervised communication is not allowed. So I really wonder why you're trying to fool me by not telling me about the love note that has been so carefully tucked away between those harmless goodies and that piece of over-priced wool."

Draco still remembered the faint quivering of his mother's lower lip, as the small scrap of parchment had tumbled to the floor. The Auror's voice, explaining how lucky they were that he, in the spirit of the season, didn't send them away on the spot, made Draco's blood run cold. Here, in Azkaban, the Malfoy name held no power. Threats and bribery didn't count. Everything depended on the do-gooder's will to help.

Draco had waited until his mother was led away before picking up the letter.

He didn't have the heart to throw it away, but he knew that he could never mention it to her without acknowledging the moment of her humiliation. So he had kept it in a pocket of his cloak on their way back home and later, after a silent dinner in the too big dining room, he had hidden the letter in his school trunk. Of course he didn't read it, he had too much respect for his parents' privacy. But he kept it as a reminder of the loss his mother had to suffer, and he felt its constant burn as he carried it around with him night and day at Hogwarts.

"Draco Malfoy!" The voice of his professor crashed into his thoughts and Draco jerked up his head. He realised with a sick feeling that most of his classmates were staring at him, their faces displaying every emotion from open curiosity to badly masked disgust. It was then that he felt Pansy's knee touching his leg under the table.

"I'm glad to finally have your attention, Mr. Malfoy." Professor Flitwick sounded angry, quite unlike his usual mild-mannered self. "Would you be so kind as to let the rest of us know what you find so much more interesting than my instructions on advanced colour change charms?"

Draco decided that it would be best to stay silent and wait for Flitwick to go on. He didn't need his humiliation to drag on for the whole class to witness. So he tried his best to ignore the hisses and sniggers from the Gryffindor tables, and forced his face into a mask of indifference.

The professor sighed. "You have nothing to say to me? I thought not." He turned to the rest of the class. "I want you all to pair up and practise changing the colours of your parchments. The first student to show me a rainbow coloured parchment will earn ten points for their House. When you have mastered this, stick with one colour and practise shading the paper, say from deepest to lightest blue, or use different patterns to imitate structure."

One of the students let out a delighted laugh and Flitwick smiled at him. "Mr. Thomas, I expected you to like this particular task. It might come in handy in your future drawings."

While the students were all busy bustling about the room, Flitwick turned back to Draco, who hadn't bothered pairing up with anyone. Pansy was still at his side, but he suspected his lecture not to be over so soon. To confirm his worries, Flitwick sent Pansy away to pair up with Millicent and Blaise. Pansy's knee gave Draco another reassuring touch, before she stood up and reluctantly left him to his fate.

Flitwick fixed Draco with an unreadable stare. "Mr. Malfoy, you are in trouble. I needn't inform you that your grades are continuing to slip, and I haven't seen you trying to catch up with the rest of the class." Glancing at a bunch of Gryffindors who seemed unable to move their feet, he quickly cast _Muffliato_ at the immediate vicinity, and then went on. "From what I know of your performance in earlier years, I can only suspect that your family situation is affecting you deeply." He paused, as if waiting for Draco to come up with an explanation.

Draco, on the other hand, didn't move a muscle and sat perfectly still. It was all he could do to control his trembling anger and exhaustion. He hated feeling helpless all the time, not being in control and able to take care of the situation properly. The mere thought of discussing his family with a teacher, let alone one who favoured any house but Slytherin, curled his lips in disgust. He bit down on the insides of his cheeks, hard.

"Show me that piece of parchment that you are hiding under your desk."

Flitwick, although kind, was not one of the teachers who could be tricked. Instead, he would use every single one of Draco's words to his own advantage, trying to solve the puzzle. Draco decided that he didn't want to take the risk. There was no use in denying the obvious. Besides, nothing was to be gained by defying his teacher. Better to be done with it quickly, and appease Flitwick's temper. Draco couldn't risk any more detentions. Very slowly, he removed his mother's letter from his robes and placed it on the desk in front of him.

"Maybe I should show you the colour changing charms once more, working our way from the basic to the more advanced ones?" Flitwick lifted his wand and aimed at the desk.

"No!" His effort for composure abandoned, Draco leaped to his feet and covered the letter with his hands, leaving sweaty imprints on the parchment. Behind him, his chair banged on the stone floor, and several students at the other end of the classroom turned their heads at them. "Don't you dare touch my letter." He didn't know how he still managed to control the loudness of his voice, forcing it down to a whisper.

While Professor MacGonagall would have lashed at Draco with her sharp tongue for such behaviour, Flitwick didn't even reprimand him. He simply looked at Draco, waiting for him to calm down.

Draco tried to diminish the damage. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to be impolite. It's just that this letter is very dear to me, so I wouldn't want it to come to harm. I over-reacted." He stopped, realising that he had started to babble.

"I accept your apology, Mr. Malfoy. Please, sit down. If the letter is so dear to you, you might consider keeping it somewhere safer than under your desk. But, I cannot accept your poor performance in my classroom, especially because you clearly have the potential to do better. You understand that, don't you?"

Draco hurried to nod, relieved that the letter was back in his possession.

"If you don't work on your charms voluntarily, I guess I will have to force some practice upon you. So I expect you to serve detention with me for three hours Saturday morning. You will concentrate on your practical charms as well as write an essay on the theoretical background."

Draco's heart sank. Another detention. Another time when he couldn't work on what mattered most. His mother and he hadn't been the only people to make a visit during the winter holidays. Draco would have loved to forget the day after they had returned from Azkaban, when Aunt Bellatrix had knocked at the Manor's door. She had not been on a family visit, and she had not been alone. The Dark Lord's words, already haunting his sleep, could not be misinterpreted: either Draco would kill the headmaster and find a way to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, or the lives of both of his parents were forfeited. No matter what.

And with all this at hand, Draco was facing another detention. Yet he forced a smile on his face. "Thank you, Professor. I'm grateful that you're taking time to ensure that my education is not wasted."

Flitwick's gaze finally softened and his voice was once more filled with concern. "You are an intelligent student, Mr. Malfoy. Concentrate on your studies, and you will be prepared for what lies ahead. Now, for the rest of the lesson, join a practice group when you are ready to proceed."

Draco nodded again, masking his misery. Afraid of being watched by Flitwick or his own fellow students, he resisted the impulse to hug the letter to his chest and simply tucked it back into his cloak, taking his time. He wasn't too keen on joining the others, so he made sure that his place was neat and clean not once, but three times.

When he started checking for the fourth time, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Pansy.

"Come on, Draco. I'll show you what you've missed so far."

She didn't ask, and Draco was relieved that he simply had to mimic her movements with his wand. But he knew that she wouldn't let him off the hook so easily. Too many hours of detention, an inquiry from Pansy about the pressure he was under and why he wouldn't confide in her, and his professor preaching about the importance of studying and gaining House points. As if Draco's real task didn't matter.

And if it didn't? If everything the Dark Lord had threatened would happen, no matter what? If maybe that had been the truth, hiding its ugly, red-eyed face from him all along? Draco felt every hair on his arms and back stand up, as a shiver crept over his body.

Pansy threw him a critical look. "Are you cold, Draco? You don't look too well, your lips are all blue. You have been a bit under the weather, lately. Maybe you should go and see Madam Pomfrey after class."

Draco nodded, grateful for her kind interpretation of the facts. "Yes, I might do that. A bit of Pepperup Potion is probably just what I need."

But he knew that he could swap the potion for his pumpkin juice at mealtimes until his ears were transmitting a constant steam, and still wouldn't be able to chase away that feeling of coldness that had settled into his bones. A coldness similar to the ice on a Dementor's breath, feeding on his father's mind in Azkaban.


	4. Faint Yellow

Main Characters: Moaning Myrtle, Draco Malfoy

Summary: Myrtle still envies the living, even if they suffer. But then, all emotional, they are interesting, at least...

Author's notes: An interlude in the rainbow series. Thank you, Jess, for the quick and helpful beta!

As always, I love to hear your thoughts.

**Faint Yellow**

When she had been a girl of flesh and blood, Myrtle had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Now, as a ghost, she felt like she belonged to her toilet more than to any of the Hogwarts' Houses. While she had been alive, she had felt obligated to loyalty towards her fellow students, even if the pressure made her eyes twitch and her voice shrill. Now, her voice was still shrill – though she wouldn't admit this to herself – but her loyalty was a precarious gift these days. That girl who had Polyjuiced herself into a cat hadn't deserved it – she had been way too full of herself. Harry Potter had been with her. He was such a cute boy. But then, the cute ones never stayed. She long knew about that.

Recently, another boy was visiting her toilet. He wasn't especially cute, not with his running nose and his reddened eyes. He rubbed away his tears vigorously, leaving his pale skin with irritated blotches. Myrtle saw this, but she didn't comment on it. Rubbing the tears away never helped, because they were always replenished from the inside. Better let them flow freely. She shrugged inwardly. She had had decades of years to get that particular lesson alone. He would learn it too, in his own time.

He was leaning heavily on one of the cracked sinks, sniffling from time to time. Myrtle floated nearer. Human tears were interesting – she could never keep herself away. Alerted by the coldness radiating from her, the boy lifted his head. Draco – she remembered a big burly boy calling him – his name was Draco.

"Oh," he said, "it's you."

His voice rested a tad too long on the last vowel, like he was questioning her right to exist.

"Of course it's me," she snapped at him, ready to lash out. "If you kindly remember, I live here."

He sniffled once more.

"You've been crying again," she said, stating the simple fact. Life after death was a very simple affair. A tad boring at times, which was why she welcomed every emotion carried into her home. It was leisure time when she didn't have to make them up for one day.

Draco stayed silent, with his head hanging low again, while the tears continued to run down his cheeks. Some drops emerged and dripped from his nose. He sniffled again.

She eyed the House badge on his school robes. "You're in Slytherin," she observed matter of factly. "Why are you crying? Slytherins never cry."

The notion struck her as funny, and she relaxed into a giggle fit. Hearing her laughter, he tensed up, and she sucked up that emotion as well. Oh, sweet emotions! They were all a girl like her lived for. What she wouldn't give for more of them.

He said something. Myrtle jerked her head around, interrupted in her dance of folly. "What did you say? I didn't get that."

"I said, I know," he murmured to the tiles. "I know that I'm not supposed to cry."

"So why," she laughed shrilly, "are you crying?"

"I can't do it." He looked up, and the sudden view of the desperate fear in his eyes made her freeze. If she had had a throat, she would have swallowed. Instead, she floated a little closer.

"You can't do what?"

He was shivering like a mouse in a trap. "I can't talk about it. I wish I could, but if… I can't." He paused, staring into her eyes. Once more, Myrtle wished that she could cry and feel her eyes well up with tears. She had been actually good at crying. Today, of course, she could only pretend, whereas his eyes spilled over again, leaving more tears to stain his already blotchy skin.

"He will kill my parents if I do."

She'd almost missed that one, so close was his voice to silence. If his parents were in danger because of him, so was he. Her thoughts flew back to the day of her death. She at least hadn't seen it coming. If she had known, maybe she wouldn't haunt her toilet. Maybe she would have gone crazy, and vanished like smoke. If you had nothing to pull yourself together, a ghost's substance could get lost so easily. Those who managed to stay always had a strong attachment to hold on to – like fear, revenge, or hate. Some even stayed for love. No one had ever managed to stay out of madness. Suddenly, she felt something like a stab inside. Could it be… compassion? She had missed this feeling for such a long time, that she almost couldn't remember how it was supposed to feel, almost couldn't place it. Excitement tickled her and she longed for more of him, more contact, more of his humanity.

"Hey, you." He looked up. "Don't cry. You're only making it worse." It was a feeble comfort, but she couldn't give him a hug. Hell, as far as she knew Slytherins, he wouldn't have ever tolerated that, regardless of his desperation. "Don't cry," she repeated.

"I musn't fail," he whispered.

"You won't. You won't fail." She still wanted to hug him, but he'd already started to pull himself together.

"Maybe you are right. I will not fail. I simply have to try harder." He nodded, trying to convince himself.

"And if you need to relax, you can always visit me." She couldn't help flashing him her most winning smile.

He straightened his back some more. "I might actually do that."

She watched him rinsing his face and drying it with the sleeve of his cloak. At the door, he turned to face her once more. "Thank you … erm … I don't know your name."

She felt the familiar annoyance rising. Of course, why would he know her name? But then, she decided not to give into her fit. "Myrtle," she simply said. "It's Myrtle."

"So, thank you, Myrtle." His smile curled the corners of his mouth upwards, even though his eyes went untouched by it.

Myrtle was floating high above the ground, ready to go for a swim. She waved at him casually. "I'll see you around."

When he closed the door behind him, she was already halfway through the pipes and on her way into the lake.


	5. Green

Main Characters: Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy

Ship(s): DM/NL pre-slash - if you squint really hard

Summary: Green is the colour of peace as well. When Neville finds Malfoy in the garden, he witnesses something he was never supposed to see.

Author's notes: This is the second version of "Green", which was originally written for Blonde Cecile's birthday. I changed some minor things to clear up the time frame. Many thanks to MikaBird and Jess for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

**Green**

Neville gently touched the green leaves. Over the last three days, he had bedded out the plants, sweating under the unusually hot sun of late April. He loved working outside, with the air fresh around him. When dealing with the delicate plants, his hands were deft, nothing like they had been in Potions. The chopping and slicing and cooking always made him nervous, and he was glad that he had finally been able to drop the subject in his sixth year. He had seen too much of destruction and what it could do to people to enjoy any of its forms. Herbology was different – it was about growing, at least most of the time. Many of the plants didn't talk back. And even when there were Mandrakes to be harvested, he knew that this was done for the purpose of healing.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand. Not that it mattered too much; after watering them, he'd expertly kneaded the earth around the tender stems to make sure of a firm stand, and he probably had soil all over his face by now.

Well, his work was almost done. He simply had to clean up his gardening tools, and then he would wash his hands. The prospect of some sips of water also sounded refreshing.

Shaking the earth from his shoes, Neville stepped from the garden bed onto the path. He would go to the small spring, which lay hidden in the back of the garden. Its water was clear and fresh to the palate, and he could clean his hands as well in the rivulet that fed the small pool.

When he stepped into the little clearing, he could see someone crouching in the grass. This was not a lost first-year student, and judging from the white blond hair that fell loosely over his knees, where the boy had rested his forehead, Neville knew only too well who was sitting there. Draco Malfoy, nephew of the woman who had driven Neville's parents into insanity and cursed himself painfully and with all her malice. Malfoy's shoulders shook and he was obviously too busy crying his eyes out to take notice of what was happening around him. Neville felt that he shouldn't stay and watch a moment too private for anybody to witness.

Carefully he retreated back to the garden path.

But as always when he got nervous, his body seemed to develop a life of its own. A twig snapped under his foot and the resulting crack echoed in his ears. Malfoy's head jerked up, and Neville caught sight of his red rimmed eyes and the wet, blotchy skin of his face. Before he found the time to stutter an apology, the boy was on his feet.

"Spying on me, Longbottom?" he sneered. "Thought you could have a nice glimpse of me, seeking me out in the garden?"

Neville took one more step backwards, then decided to stand his ground. Malfoy wasn't altogether too threatening and besides, he looked like he could use a helping hand. Neville slowly shook his head.

"Don't try to fool me. You smell like queer out of every pore of your skin. Hoping to get shagged, were you? Everyone knows that you Gryffindors are natural bottoms."

Neville straightened his back. He knew who he was and whom he preferred. First of all, he had stood alongside Harry in the Department of Mysteries. Second, he had a new wand. Third, he realised with sudden amazement, he was no longer afraid.

"You would know," he answered back. "Have you had a look at yourself lately?" He hadn't meant it to come out that crossly, but there it was. So he seemed to possess more than one courageous streak in him.

Malfoy advanced on him once more, stopping only inches from Neville's face.

"Longbottom, if you ever so much as breathe a word to one person, I will make sure that the whole school knows about your dirty little secret."

Neville sighed, and it reminded him of the dissatisfied little noise his Gran used to make every time he had dropped another cup of her delicate china when he was little. _There's nothing you can do about me having seen you._

"Forget it, Malfoy. The school," Neville went on, "as you so rightly pointed out, already knows."

He would have loved to continue with something along the lines of _I wonder if they know about you snivelling your untold misery to the greens_, but restrained himself. There was no need to aggravate Malfoy any further. Suddenly, he became very aware of the other boy's closeness. As well as of the sweat on his own skin. He positively reeked.

"But Malfoy …" Malfoy shot him another glare. "You are right about one thing." Neville felt laughter rising up in his throat. "I smell. Even if I don't know how this would relate to any sexual orientation." He grinned at Malfoy, feeling like an owl soaring in the sky – free from a burden that had rooted in his heart for too many years. "And I'm going to wash it off right now." He paused, but no retort from Malfoy interrupted the short silence. "You can either join me and wash the t- wash your face, too, or simply leave me alone. Do as you wish."

Malfoy still said nothing, but continued to glare back at him. Neville could see the other boy trembling from the prolonged tension. He gave one more try to calm the Slytherin down.

"Do as you wish," Neville repeated. Talking so much in a row was something he wasn't used to, and it was getting on his nerves. "The _clever_ thing would be to put your hair back into place while nobody else will see you like this." Malfoy swallowed and eyed him warily. "I won't tell them."

Malfoy turned on his heel and took the trampled path leading further into the clearing. Neville followed him, making sure that the other boy kept his head start. When Neville finally arrived at the spring, Malfoy was already kneeling on the ground, shovelling water onto his face with cupped hands. His skin was still very pale, but the red blotches under his eyes had subsided at least a little bit. Neville approached him, careful not to mess up this newfound tranquillity. He cleared his throat.

"Madam Sprout always keeps some clean towels over there." He pointed towards a small wooden box at the foot of a tree. "You can take one, if you want to."

"I'll manage," Malfoy responded. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his cloak, and Neville did his best to suppress a smile. So much for the infamous Malfoy dignity.

"Feeling better?" He didn't know what made him ask. Maybe the fact that Malfoy had seemed more human to him during the last thirty minutes than in all the six years before.

"I'm done." Malfoy gave him a brief nod. He stalked through the grass and back to the path, leaving Neville standing beside the spring.

Not expecting anything else from Malfoy, Neville knelt down to finally clean himself from sweat and soil. He almost jerked, when Malfoy called his name.

"Longbottom?" Malfoy was standing at the edge of the clearing, facing him.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"I only wanted to …" Malfoy fidgeted with his hands. "Erm … thanks."

Was there a blush on the other boy's face? He was too far away for Neville to see, but then, what did it matter?

"You're welcome."

Malfoy made a stirring gesture with his hand, and quickly stuffed it into the pocket of his cloak. Neville waved back.

"See you at the castle, Malfoy."

Then he dipped his hands into the water and relished the cool feeling against his skin. A bright smile spread across his face. When he looked up again, he was truly and peacefully alone.


End file.
